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I smile, but it makes me wonder why the two of them have never gotten together, as far as I know. It can’t just be that she has a flat chest.
“I’d better take some drinks down for the girls,” Helene says, “now Oliver’s been diverted.”
“I’ll give you a hand,” I say. I kick off my sandals, then get up and help her put the large jugs of iced water with chopped fruit and homemade lemonade on trays, along with a dozen paper cups. Together, we walk across the lawn with them, and let ourselves through the gate to the poolside.
It’s a large pool built in an interesting shape with steps down to a shallow section, a central area that’s about four feet deep, and one part that’s over six feet deep. Huxley’s sitting on a chair under one of the umbrellas in the shade, cuddling Robin, and with one eye on the girls, who are screaming and laughing as they poke each other with noodles and fall off the various blown-up animals that are floating around in the pool. Nymph is also in the water, swimming between them, which they think is the best thing ever.
“Drinks,” Helene calls, putting her tray down on the tiles, and I put mine beside it.
The girls start swimming over. “Are you coming in, Dad?” Joanna calls.
“I’ll take Robin, if you like,” Helene says.
“All right.” He kisses the baby’s head, then hands him over to his mum. Helene sits next to him under the umbrella, enjoying a sneaky cuddle with her grandson.
Huxley gets up and gestures with his head for me to join him over by the barrier. A little nervously, I walk over and lean on the railing next to him. In the distance, Hobson Bay reflects the cornflower-blue sky, busy with sailboats. It’s the nineteenth of February, and it’s still hot and humid, the only sign of autumn’s approach visible in the early mornings, which are often cool and misty.
“Joanna seems to be having a nice time,” I say.
“Yeah. Give kids a pool and you’re guaranteed at least an hour of peace.” He winces as one of the girls screams.
“You were saying?”
He grins and studies me for a moment. “So?” he asks softly. “Have you been thinking about my offer?”
I sigh and watch the fantails jumping about in the branches of the jacaranda tree across the lawn. “Yes, of course. And I’m afraid the answer is still no.”
He doesn’t say anything, and I look up at him, expecting to see him looking disappointed.
He isn’t. His eyes are gleaming. “You’re kidding me,” he says.
“I can’t,” I whisper. “I’m sorry. I understand why you offered, and I want to say thank you for being kind and trying to help, but you’re my best friend, and I really don’t want to lose you.”
“Lose me?”
“When it all goes wrong.”
He rolls his eyes. “Why would it go wrong?”
“Because it always does.”
“That doesn’t mean it would this time.”
“It’s called extrapolation.”
“It’s called fear, Elizabeth.”
“Says the man who’s afraid of spiders, needles, heights, and a hundred other things.”
He ignores that. “You can’t refuse to have a relationship ever again because it might go wrong.”
“I can do whatever I like.”
“Don’t bristle.”
“I’m not bristling.”
“Yes, you are. We were meant to be together, and all you’re doing is delaying the inevitable.”
